I remember my Dad
and I going fishing. We did a few times before the divorce. Probably when I was
around eight. We fished in the river not far from our house. The Cherry River.
We didn’t live in the country, but didn’t have to. That river cut a swath right
through my home town. God, I hated that place. Lived in the not so great part
of a not so great Midwestern industrial town. I remember fishing. Baiting the
hook with something alive, watching it squirm; wondering if it could feel pain.
I’d hoped so. I hated fishing more than I hated that town. Don’t really
remember much of what my old man said in our few short years of acquaintance,
but I do remember that day, and what he said that day. Probably because I was
hot, sweaty, bored and miserable and would rather have been anywhere else.
“Boy, see the water there?”
“The river?” I asked. I cringed a little, expecting a slap
to the back of the head.
“Yeah. That. But the water
itself. See how the sun reflects? Sparkles all inviting like? Saying, ‘you know
boy, it’s a hot day. Bet you’d like to cool off. Bet you’d love to jump in
right now, wouldn’t you, boy?’ There’s more to that river than the water, boy.
The river is what’s underneath that
water. It’s the current that’ll grip you, hold you down, drown you without a
care. The broken beer bottles that’ll slice your foot wide open. You’d bleed to
death before you ever made it home to your Mama. It might be the tree branch
you can’t see, just below the surface, that’ll spear you like a bullfrog when
you belly flop. You see, the water ain’t the river; it’s the river’s mask.
People wear them masks, too.”
I probably
remember that because that’s the most he’d ever said to me that wasn’t a direct
order.
I really think we were made for each other. I first
saw her in the dorm cafeteria. She was very pretty, beautiful in an awkward
way. Thin, maybe she thought too thin, jet black hair and pale skin. A crooked
nose and a slight gap in her front teeth. Glasses with black rims. She gave me
a quick half smile. So quick that I almost didn’t see it. She cast her gaze to the
floor, her fragile hands in her lap. I knew her hair smelled of
strawberries. It was love at first sight. Corny, I know. Hey, she wasn’t my
first.
That was weeks
ago. Man, hard to believe. Now we traveled the highway together, to an unknown
destination. How mysterious. The place we were going didn’t matter. All that
mattered is that we were going there together. We’d be together.
She was studying
pre-med. That made me proud, I guess. And why shouldn’t I be?
I’d dropped out last month. She didn’t know
that, and I tried not to think about it. Does it matter? She slowed the car
down as it began to sprinkle. Brake lights flashed briefly ahead. How long
would we drive on before she revealed where we were going? I should’ve been
tired, since I’d been with her since dawn, but the anticipation of where we might
stop had me wired. I talked about everything and anything, until it started to
feel a little weird, so I just shut up. Why did I always do that? All those
regrets and failings, wants and desires. They shouldn’t matter now. Not now
that I have Diane.
Dusk turned to
darkness and we drove on. I turned on the radio. After a half-dozen silly love
songs and a few embarrassing songs filled with sexual innuendo, I turned it
off. If only I knew where we were off to, just me and Diane. Even though I’d
only known her a short time, I felt as if I’d known her forever. Like since we
were kids, or something. I’d watched her with children at the clinic she
interned at. She loved those kids like they were hers. I’d see that half smile
as she lifted a toddler and held him in her arms, the kid giggling. She had
pets, too. Two cats. I saw the first one, a big fat tabby right away. The
second, a Siamese, was shy or maybe aloof is more like it. She loved them
equally. I hated the thought of them dying before her, breaking her heart.
Headlights
streamed in streaks across the windshield. Now I was getting tired. It was late.
We were still driving. She hadn’t stopped for anything; food, gas even a
restroom break. I supposed I could hold on. How much longer could it be? I’m
sure she was getting tired, too. We’d both been going since early morning. I
guess I’d bear with it all, I’d come this far.
I thought to
myself how pretty she’d looked getting into the car. I guess wearing what you’d
call a conservative light-weight coat, khaki, tied at the waist, covering what
I knew was underneath: a silky lavender blouse with a “v” neck, just barely
exposing her cleavage. The blouse covering the lace push-up bra that only she
and I knew she was wearing. A short black skirt exposed her long slender legs
from mid-thigh, her feet styling black low heeled wedges. Yes, I know about
ladies shoes. Whatever.
My mind wandered
to places I’d never been as the miles ticked on. Diane and I, in bed together,
her in her coat, blouse and skirt, me naked, excited. Then alone… but then I snapped
out of my reverie. We were taking an exit. Finally! She pulled into a motel.
I kept still as
she went in, not wanting to do anything dumb to spoil the moment. It wasn’t
long before she came out and walked ahead. I followed in the car. I parked and
stepped into the cold, wet night. I couldn’t believe my luck as she slipped the
card key through the slot… before she could close the door, I pushed my way in.
She tried to scream, but I was quick. I hit her hard over the head and knocked
her out.
I would be with
her tonight.
I carried her out
around two in the morning, putting her in the trunk of my car. I just left her car in the parking lot. I drove until I got to
Cherry River, on the outskirts of town. It was nearly dawn by the time I had
her body weighted down. I sweated as I dragged her to the edge. I was too tired
to carry her. I gave Diane one last kiss, and then rolled her into the murky water,
the lazy current reflecting the moonlight. The river’s mask looked so calm. But
I knew what lay under the surface. Detective, she hadn’t been my first.
Check out my collection of short stories: "Ten Little Terrors"
Check out my collection of short stories: "Ten Little Terrors"
